


the King's Jewel

by courtugger



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bilbo has spent his life retrieving artifacts for Elrond and has had many adventures, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other, There will be feels, and now all of the lands of Middle Earth have to deal with the consequences, and several companies, characters of various sexualities and genders, like oh god have some angst, role reversal for Thorin and Bilbo, so I took this 'Heart of the Mountain' quite literally, the Shire was all but lost during the Fell Winter, while Thorin has never been outside Erebor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:29:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4252923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtugger/pseuds/courtugger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Arkenstone was indeed the Heart of the Mountain; there was a feast and ceremony to commemorate such a gem being mined and what it would mean for the Kingdom of Erebor. Weeks later a sickness has begun to plague the rulers in every Race and every land, from Ered Luin to the Iron Hills they have all fallen ill in some way or another. A council has been called in Erebor to learn of a cure that will be difficult to create and the ingredients nearly impossible to find. Though an agreement is struck between all,  and even that may not be enough-the rulers are quickly running out of time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic has been spiraling around in my head for nearly three months and finally i was able to write some of it. I will try my best to keep it going. Also if there are any typos just spray with water and I'll fix it; there shouldn't be any because I do have a lovely beta, but y'know, things happen.

“Bain, stop scuffing your feet!” Tilda hissed back at her brother as they both crouched along the tiled roof. The lights of Litha didn’t reach them there, not even the thousands of flickering lanterns overhead or those hung in the streets reached the granary storage.

Her brother glared, looking a little too much like Da. “I’m not scuffing my feet you brat.”

“Right. If you get us caught, Da will skin us alive.” Before he could protest, she attached a grappling hook into an exposed beam and swung down from the roof with only her hands hanging onto the rope. For a second, she was free falling, the air stinging her face like little tiny needles. 

Then her feet hit the side of the building, her soles absorbed the shock and noise, allowing her to shimmy down the side of the building until she reached the window. With a knife from her boot, she unscrewed the two screws there, it was a bit tricky holding all her weight with one arm but she managed.

“Try and keep up.” Tilda whispered, briefly glancing back up to see her brother’s confused and irritated face.

It took a bit of effort, but reaching the now open window of the building was worth a bit of climbing back up the rope. Tilda grunted and pulled herself into the window sill by just her arms; she peered into the room lit by a single candle.

She had almost forgotten it was Litha. Custom dictated a candle must be in every room as the people of Dale celebrated the longest day of the year. All the squares in the town were lit by thousands upon thousands of candles and lanterns and bonfires. The music could be heard from even the storage units, the pounding of bare feet and the sound of viols and drums as people danced into the night.

Most of Dale would still be closed tomorrow as everyone recovered from the celebration.

“Fuck.” The muffled curse made Tilda roll her eyes as she turned to glare at Bain. He looked sheepishly at her as he clamored in the window. “Sorry.”

She wanted to smack him, but instead motioned for him to stand near the vent right behind the door. “You should have taken more lessons from the guards.”

“And by taken you mean bribe them with gifts they could give to their wives and daughters.” Her brother remarked.

Well, there went that particular secret.

She took the knife from her boot again and began to unscrew the vent. “It doesn’t matter how I got them to teach me, the point is I won’t get us caught.”

Bain watched as she moved onto the second screw, his brows drawn down. “Why do you think Thranduil requested a meeting with only Da and Sigrid?” He held out his palm for the screws, holding them as she moved onto the third.

“I don’t know.” Tilda twirled her long hair for a second before getting back to the task at hand, her brows moved together and nose wrinkled up as she tried to think. “Da never keeps secrets from us-”

“Because he knows you’ll do this.”

“-and Sigrid wouldn’t do that either, but I’d wager it has something to do with Da being so sick lately. There’ve been rumors that King Thrain isn’t doing well and you said people are starting to call the Greenwood, Mirkwood.”

Bain nodded, accepting the third screw. “Three rulers sick, all at the same time.”

“Three?” Tilda raised her brow, her nimble fingers freezing.

“Three. Whatever happens to the Greenwood, happens to Thranduil.” Her brother didn’t elaborate on that, his eyes fixated on the screws in his hand.

She stopped and turned her body to face him. “How do you know that? Elves don’t share secrets, Thranduil wouldn’t even tell what his relationship to the forest was when I begged as a child.”

“Simple, I didn’t learn it from the King.” Bain glared at her, as if daring her to press the issue further. He obviously didn’t want her nosing around in his business.

Which is why she didn’t want to stop pestering him, she had to know. Thranduil had ignored her for the better part of her teen years. The once kind and understanding King had gone cold and aloof, he would rather pretend she hadn’t written and asked questions than admit she was ever close to him.

Tilda shook her head and directed her eyes firmly at her brother. “How.”

His jaw clenched. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Fine, but I will find out.” Tilda easily unscrewed the last one and tossed it his way, holding back a snicker when he managed to drop all four. She slid her quiver off and pulled out the dwarvish invention Bofur had loaned her. Through a system of mirror and metal, the tube was used almost like a looking glass, but the ends were bent in opposite directions. “Time to spy on Da and the King.”

It took a few minutes of fiddling with the invention and lowering it to where the other vent would be placed in relation to the other room, but she was able to do it quietly and quickly. She placed it against the other grate and peered into it. A few moments of adjustment was all she needed.

The room was obviously storage, for corn by the looks. And King Thranduil was standing at the head of the room, looking disgusted, or the Elven equivalent. If not for spending her entire childhood around him, Tilda wouldn’t have picked up the differences in his facial expressions. His elegant and over the top armor had no flaws, nor did the pale blonde hair that fell below his shoulders. But his face was…flushed, like he was suffering from a cold sweat.

She had never seen an Elf anything other than healthy and perfectly pristine.

Da stood a few feet from him, his skin had a ghostly pallor and he looked like he would keel over at any moment. Sigrid was offering him an arm, her sister dressed in the finest silk dress Dale had to offer its future Queen, with a crown of silver and emeralds perched atop her chignon of honey colored hair. Her scepter was in her other hand and she gripped it tightly, her eyes pinched as she glared at the other King.

Slowly, ever so slowly she began to pick up their voices.

Thank the Valar for the Dwarves and their inventions.

“You can’t be suggesting the dwarves intended for this to happen.”

Thranduil cut Sigrid off with a swipe of his elegant hand. “The fault is their own Princess; I will not attend a council to solve their problems.”

“Thranduil.” Da reached out towards the Elf, but was met with the King jerking away from his outstretched hand. The hurt in Da’s dark eyes was enough to make Tilda want to shoot an arrow through the King’s stupid head. Her father nearly turned to stone on the spot, his brows drawn down and his muscles all pulled tight. “You must go or your people will suffer; your son will suffer.”

The Elf jerked back, his entire face became devoid of emotion. “You think to command me?”

“What are they-?” Tilda slapped at her brother, pulling her face away from the looking glass to glare at him.

She mouthed the words at him. "Elven hearing you twit!"

"Oh, sorry," Bain ducked his head and covered his mouth. 

Tilda rolled her eyes and looked back down the device. And found that three sets of eyes were now on the vent.

She hit her head against the wall. “Fuck.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we get family dynamics. And Barduil because I'll never climb out of that particular trash can.

Tilda ran her fingers through her hair, the snags made her wince, but as long as she wasn’t looking at her father or sister she would be fine. Their eyes might make her burst into flames.

“What were you thinking? Spying on a royal meeting between two Kings? If it had been anyone other than Thranduil they could have sought retribution and-”

She cleared her throat. “Except it wasn’t and he’s standing right over there being an ass like always.”

“Tilda!” Sigrid snarled at her sister. No, not snarled, Sigrid would never do that, no, Valar forbid; she had to be prim and proper all the time.

Tilda threw her hands up in the air and nearly screamed in frustration. “It’s Litha and you take a meeting with Thranduil,” she pointed at her father. “A secret meeting in the damn storage building about the surrounding rulers being sick and you only brought Sigrid. That’s not right. This is why you’ve never kept things from us because you know I’d do this; you know I want to know what’s going on. Bain and I have that right. So, I’m not sorry.”

“I was coerced here.” Bain held up his hands to feign innocence then scrubbed his hand over the thick line of hair that was on his jaw.

“Oh that’s great. Abandon me when I need you and make it look like-”

Thranduil stepped forward, his face impassive as always. “Stop behaving as children. You weren’t privy to the information we were discussing, but now that you know there is little to be done.”

“We’ll still be discussing this later.” Da glared.

Tilda looked away again. Instead she focused on the Elf who taught her how to braid, the one who had told her stories and let her play with his robes. “Is it true? Is the Greenwood sick like you are? Are you connected to it?”

The ‘smack’ that sounded when Bain his hit hand against his forehead echoed in the otherwise silent room, her brother looked like he wanted to drown her.

“How did you know that.” Thranduil demanded. His azure eyes were burning and she felt like he could see straight through her corset, through the chainmail under it, and straight through her body. 

Tilda leveled a gaze at him. “I have my sources.”

“Is that why your brother is looking rather sheepish?”

Bain visibly paled with the attention on him.

Before anyone could say anything more, Sigrid stepped forward and commanded the attention of everyone in the room. “It doesn’t matter how they know, they do. Tilda and Bain should have been included; they may have refused the throne but they’re still the royal family.” Her sister looked to her younger siblings then, a soft look in her eyes before she straightened her shoulders and addressed them like she would in court. 

“There are oaths of blood and magic taken by every ruler of each nation, they are sworn to protect and care for the land and its people. If one prospers, so does the other. It’s a symbiotic circle that all life flows from and it’s sacred to any who take a throne. Which is why you wouldn’t have known about it; Da has only recently told me. For Elves,” she gestured to Thranduil and eyed him for a long moment, “it’s more intense and long lived, which is why Thranduil is looking less than healthy. And as you can see Da isn’t doing well at all.”

Bain hummed, stroking his beard again, looking to Tilda. “That explains the rumors about King Thrain that you heard.”

“It does. But what I don’t get is why this one,” Tilda gestured to Thranduil as she played with her hair and noticed the silent conversation going between her father and the Elven king. “is so keen to blame the dwarves.”

Thranduil opened his mouth to speak, but Tilda beat him to it. “Look, I get the bad blood between Elves and Dwarves. Bain’s heard the Elven side, I’ve heard the Dwarven side. If you put the two together, you get a story that paints no one as a hero. So I don’t want to hear the ‘Dwarves are awful and not meant for Arda’ rubbish.” She turned back to her sister and motioned for her to continue before Thranduil could say anything else.

Sigrid nodded. “Do you remember a few months ago, a new gem was mined from within Erebor? Thrain held the feast and you flaked to go on a patrol-”

The youngest ducked her head, a blush staining her cheeks. Had she told her sister of the dwarrowdam who had danced and then offered to smoke a pipe with her? No. And she wasn’t going to mention it now. “Uh, yes. I remember that. Why?”

“The Arkenstone. King Thrain called it the ‘Heart of the Mountain’.” Sigrid walked a few steps and began straightening Bain’s simple bargeman clothes, a nervous habit she had picked up when they were all still kids. Her steely eyes glanced to their Da, who had begun to lean heavily on the wall. “I don’t think that stone was meant to be removed from the mountain. Something did not feel right that night, it was unnerving to see it set into the King’s throne.”

Bain raised a brow, his eyes still partially on his father and the Elf, who seemed to still be conversing silently as well as holding themselves up. “So this is some form of punishment for removing it? It’s still technically in the mountain.”

The eldest child shook her head. “But not where it’s meant to be.”

“Then it could be a punishment from one of the Valar?”

“Yavanna maybe?” Tilda suggested, trying to recount her lessons as a young girl.

Da shook his head, finally breaking eye contact with Thranduil and addressing his children. “This is far more severe. Yavanna is the giver of life to the plants, of the things that grow from the Earth. The removal of the Arkenstone may have very well angered the Earth herself,” the dark haired man broke off, a rattling, disgusting cough echoed through the room and Da stumbled forward.

The three children didn’t have a chance to move, Thranduil already had, ghosting across the room and supporting their father by his elbows. The frantic way he moved was like a dam breaking inside him, emotion was suddenly clear on his face, brows furrowed in concern and his mouth forming a frown. His low voice could be heard throughout the room. “Meleth nîn, you look dreadful.”

“Are you done pretending you don’t care?” Da smirked up at the Elf, another cough wracking his body, but he visibly leaned into the Elf for support.

The smile that echoed through Thranduil’s façade was akin to the sun breaking through the clouds on a dreary day. It was stunning and more beautiful than Tilda had ever seen the Elven King look-and she had seen the Elf in his formal robes. “I have always cared.”

“Well that answers that question,” Tilda nudged her brother in the shoulder.

Bain rolled his eyes and bumped her in the hip. “It was never a question, you brat.”

“You two didn’t realize it for years. They think they aren’t sappy,” Sigrid rolled her eyes. She had never desired a romantic relationship and Tilda knew she never would, but her sister had always loved a good love story.

And their father’s love for Thranduil had never been secret. Oh he had thought he was, certainly. But Tilda had seen her father glancing at him for years and even more…sultry looks from across the rooms. She shivered in disgust at that. The only problem had been the lack of solid proof and since Tilda had never wanted to tip her siblings off…she had ‘investigated’ on her own.

Da turned to them all, his pale face held a smile similar to the one Thranduil had now wiped from his pristine face. “We can hear you.”

“Please, you two were having a conversation of stares.” Tilda rolled her eyes.

Thranduil raised a perfect brow. “I have wondered when you gained such an attitude.”

Bain and Sigrid looked at each other. Sigrid managed to school her features into something neutral. Bain, however, burst into a fit of laughter and held his stomach as he leaned back.

“You didn’t pay as much attention when I wasn’t a child, that’s not my fault.” Tilda snapped, crossing her arms under her chest and glaring again.

Bain nudged her. “Be nice, you don’t understand.”

“Oh and you do?” she snapped back.

Thranduil tilted his head, eyeing her brother like he could see through Bain. “I find it odd that a mortal has such knowledge of Elven matters. Royal matters as well. And you are so keen on keeping your source a secret, tell me Bain son of Bard, do you love this Elf?”

Bain went red from his hairline to where his coat was pulled up around his throat. He looked down and tried clearing his throat several times. “No…no I, ah, I don’t.”

Tilda’s eyebrows nearly touched her hair. She would have said something, but Sigrid shook her head once.

“Bain,” Da sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then reached toward his son. He grabbed Bain’s shoulder and steadied himself and his son. “You’ve always known you can trust me.”

“And him?”

Da looked to Thranduil, who merely raised a dark brow. “Has Thranduil given you a reason to not trust him?”

“Oh, y’know, other than ignoring us for the last eight or so years,” Tilda managed to bite out before her good sense told her that was definitely a bad idea. Sigrid put her face in her hand and sighed deeply. It was all she could offer the situation, so Tilda shrugged and looked at her feet. “What? What else was I supposed to believe?

Thranduil stepped forward; his large frame loomed in front of her. A cool, demanding hand tugged her head up and the blue eyes that had watched her as a child broke through her snarky façade and made her want to cry. “I did not ignore you because of anything you had done, Tilda.” His face turned into something sad, only the slightest increment of movement, but it was something. “Mortals are like flames, so bright and beautiful, but also so very brief. Elves distance themselves, for protection of our hearts.”

“So you don’t feel more hurt when we die,” she finished. And then frowned, reaching up to clasp his hand as her hazel eyes moved to her father. “But that just makes it worse, you’d just wonder what if your whole life. And that’s so long…wouldn’t that cause you more pain? And why didn’t you two ever tell us?”

Sigrid rolled her eyes. “Tilda can you ever stay on one train of thought? You were asking about our dear brother over here or rather, we all were.” Her older sister offered a sickly sweet grin to her younger brother who was glaring at her hard enough to melt her face off.

Thranduil shook his head serenely. “It’s of no consequence; I know exactly the Elf who has been avoiding interactions with Dale lately.”

Bain cleared his throat and shook his head, opening his mouth to speak. 

“However it’s not our place,” the King stated smoothly. “The original topic was the sickening rulers and the meeting that every ruler has been summoned to attend in Erebor. I have a feeling now that you three are privy to the nature of the…relationship I have with your father that I will have no other choice than to attend.”

Da offered the Elf a smirk in response.

“I want to go.” Tilda stated, straightening her shoulders and meeting their eyes.

Bain nodded. “I’ll go too.”

“Then I will remain in Dale to handle the affairs.” Sigrid said.

Thranduil offered a nod. “I will be in contact with my children. I’m sure Legolas will be keen to join me, the others will handle the Greenwood.”

“Then we have a plan and I can go see a healer.” Da coughed again and motioned for Thranduil to walk with him. The Elven King did his best to hold Da up, but it was a fighting battle as they walked from the room.

“Wait, did he say children? As in kids plural?” Tilda asked no one in particular.

This time, both Bain and Sigrid groaned aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to say that, no, Tilda isn't to be talked about like she's an idiot. She's only eighteen years old in this and similar to many people I know, can jump from one train of thought to another. And being very young, she's just coming into her own and learning politics and trying to find what she truly wants. So, no Tilda bashing please.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet one of Bombur's daughter, and the Tilda/OC pairing makes an appearance. Awkward flirting ahoy!

Unlike most of the citizens of Dale, Tilda didn’t sleep in the next day. She was up with the sun and cutting down rows of used lanterns, as well as scraping wax off of the many staircases where hours before they burned. Her hair was thrown into a haphazard ponytail and she had decided on trousers, boots, a simple tunic and corset.  


It was too early for this. Well past midday and it was still too early for this. But then again, had she partied last night? No. She had spent the rest of her evening looking after her father and convincing Thranduil he shouldn’t go back to the Greenwood and finally getting him to stay and care for Da.

Such a great night. 

She could have spent her night seeing if she could find the dwarrowdam she had spoken to at the ceremony for the Arkenstone; what was her name? Bom…something, how could she spend four plus hours with her and not remember her name?

It might have been the dwarvish pipeweed if she was being honest.

Tilda was bent down, scraping the wax from the yellow stone when she heard a familiar voice call out to her in a very dwarvish accent.

“Princess!”

The blonde woman groaned and hit her head against the stone near her face. Did people have to call her that? She had done nothing to deserve the title and she didn’t want it. After scraping the last bit of wax from the stone, she turned and stood to see a dwarf jogging towards her across the square.

She tossed the tool to the side and descended the stairs two or three steps at a time. “Bofur!” Tilda threw her arms around the dwarf she hadn’t seen in months as she met him halfway.

There were times when she was younger and she would sneak out of her daily lessons and go to the market. Bofur and his cousin, Bifur, were known for their figurine wood carvings and also the pastries and glass figurines that were made by Bofur’s brother Bombur and his wife Amira. She would sit for hours near their cart and listen in apt fascination to the stories Bofur would tell to the children who were passing by or needed an eye to be kept on them while their parents were shopping.

She also knew the dwarf as a personal guard to the King, though she had always suspected there was more to that relationship.

Bofur pulled back and grinned, his dimples showing. “Lass how have yeh been?”

“I’ve been well, until you called me that.” Tilda harrumphed, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a very unimpressed look.

“Yeh’re the Princess.”

She rolled her eyes, “Technically yes, but I’m not going to be Queen so-wait, who’s your friend?” Tilda’s eyes moved to the dwarf who had been walking towards them with an uneasy look and her heart nearly stopped.

Memories of the celebration in Erebor floated back to her when she had snuck off to get away from all of the politics and finery. A dwarrowdam had approached her and they had talked until the sun had risen and she had to sneak into the chambers that had been reserved for her family.

And now, that dwarrowdam was standing in front of her.

“Huh? Oh! Tilda, Princess of Dale, this is my niece, Bomra daughter of Bombur and Amira. Come here lass an’ meet th'Princess.” Bofur adjusted his tattered hat and gestured for Bomra to come forward.

The dark skinned dwarrowdam bowed deeply, a glint of betrayal shown in those impossibly blue eyes. Tilda felt like she was staring into the sky on a cloudless day; it almost hurt to look into their depths. “Bomra, at your service, your Majesty.”

“Oh, no, please don’t call me that-”

Bofur sniggered as he noticed the irritated look on his niece’s face. “Oh so this is the human lass yeh were talkin’ about, the one yeh smoked a pipe with?”

“Yes.” Bomra ground out with, rubbing a hand along her jaw. Her hair was different, not so elaborate in the pattern. Ropes of hair hung from her head, some of it pulled back to loop below her ears and some sat atop her head. Her brilliant orange beard was still complexly bound; the strands twisting and turning below her well defined jaw.

“I’ll leave yeh to it. Princess,” Bofur offered a mock bow before he meandered away.

Tilda growled under her breath before turning her eyes back to Bomra. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was-”

“Walk with me your Majesty?” the dwarrowdam asked, gesturing toward one of the many cobblestone pathways that lead between buildings. There was something about her voice, the deep intonation and the cadence of her speech…Tilda shivered.

She nodded. “Uh, sure, but please don’t call me that.” It took a few moments but soon she fell in step with Bomra.

“You didn’t tell me you were the daughter of a King, lass.” There was an edge to Bomra’s voice, but it still had the same effect on her. Her accent was different than Bofur’s-the pigtailed dwarf had once told her he was a Broadbeam and his accent was a part of that. Tilda had no idea what the difference was between a Broadbeam and a dwarf of Erebor or if there even was a difference. Still, Bomra sounded a bit like Bofur, but there was a hint of another accent in the way she spoke. It wasn’t an accent Tilda could place.

She quickly realized she had been staring and looked ahead, her fingers finding the end of her ponytail quickly. “I don’t usually go around telling everyone I…meet that I’m Princess who refused the crown-it complicates things. People treat me differently.”

The number of times she had watched a person’s face change from friendly to apprenhension. Or their opinions would rapidly change. She didn’t understand that at all; she wasn’t going to have someone flogged for having an opinion. Yet that was how people treated her. It always became ‘anything for you Princess’, ‘whatever pleases you Princess’, it made her want to hurl.

“So you chose to lie to me?”

Tilda shook her head. “No. When you found me sitting on that ledge I just wanted something that was normal. I didn’t want to be the Princess who had to sit through a ceremony and please all the nobles.” Her hazel eyes moved to Bomra, catching sight of her amazing profile, a small forehead, large, arched nose, and that jawline… She cleared her throat and faced forward, watching her feet slowly move from brick to brick. “I get the importance of the ceremony and how much Dale and Erebor rely on each other…but I don’t want to be trapped in an endless cycle of parties and ceremonies and diplomatic meetings.”

“You want your freedom.” Bomra stated simply, her jaw clenching. “I misjudged your intentions then Lady Tilda.”

“It’s just Tilda, okay?”

“Whatever I refer to you as, it doesn’t undo the grave insult I gave you. I’m sorry lass.” The dwarrowdam scratched at the back of her neck with a large, calloused hand. 

Tilda shrugged, shaking her head a bit as they rounded a corner. “It was mostly my fault. I should have found time to say something.” They were in the empty market now, the streets covered in pieces of lanterns and wax, with only two or three carts up and working for the day. Most would be selling remedies for those who over drank and those who had danced too much and so on. “I didn’t know Bofur was your Uncle-he never mentioned his brother having children.”

“Ah, well, children are…sacred to dwarves. We’re highly protected and rarely leave the mountain before our 100th name day.” Bomra stated mechanically, as if she didn’t know what she should be saying.

“Should you be telling me this?” the blonde kicked at a piece of lantern, feeling her face heat up as she watched Bomra wring her hands together. “Bofur wouldn’t even tell me what a Broadbeam was or why it was so important he was one.”

A hand grabbed her wrist and tugged, making Tilda stop in her tracks and turn. Those thick callous fingers running-

Alright, let’s not go there.

She looked down at the dwarrowdam and raised a brow. “Did I say something wrong?”

“I shouldn’t tell you this-in fact I’m not sure why I want to tell you,” Bomra let go of her and straightened her shoulders, as if she were preparing herself for battle. “We dwarves don’t share our secrets…”

Tilda shuffled her feet a bit, fingers tangled in her hair. “You don’t have to. I understand why your people wouldn’t share their culture and history.”

Bomra nodded. “Maybe one day…”

“So I’ll see more of you then?”

Her lips quirked upward on one side and Bomra raised a brow like it was a challenge. “I would love to be at your service Tilda.”

The human woman wanted to say something witty, anything that would fluster the dwarrowdam, but nothing worked. The heat of her face must have been a sight as she opened and closed her mouth several times with nothing to show for it. Her fingers worked viciously at the end of her hair and she considered pulling it out.  


“I’ll return with my Uncle next week then.” The dwarrowdam reached forward, gently pulling Tilda’s arm away from her body and forcing her let go of her hair. Soft, chapped lips pressed against her hand as Bomra stared directly at her. “Farewell Tilda.”

Even then, Tilda couldn’t find the words to bid Bomra goodbye. She simply stood there, gaping after the dwarrowdam and cradling her hand as if it were the most precious thing on the planet.

-

Bomra sat quietly next to her Uncle in the cart, listening to the lively tune he was whistling into the afternoon air.

Her mind still lingered on Tilda. The human woman with hair the color of a wheat field and eyes that shifted uneasily between jade and amber, she was tall, so much taller than Bomra had expected. After all, their talk had been spent sitting with their legs hanging over the edge of a walkway.

But had she been too forward?

What if the human custom she had mimicked was offensive?

What would she even talk to Tilda about?

How much of her own traditions could she share without earning the disapproval of her friends and family?

“Yeh’re worrying about somethin’ yeh shouldn’t be,” her Uncle commented, knocking his pipe against the side of the cart. He made that face, the one that both irritated her and made her want to laugh aloud. “I’ve never heard the Princess so nervous-she must like yeh.”

She sighed, toying with the fabric at her knees. Then she narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you listen to our conversation?”

“Yeh wound me niece, offended my honor grievously!” her Uncle leaned back, holding his hat to his heart. 

“Ass.”

Bofur chuckled. He returned the floppy, worn hat to his head and eyed her. “Yeh’re easily out of sorts when talkin’ ta the other lasses, but not like this. An’ no, I didn’t listen ta the two of yeh; yeh’ve been in a mood since yeh met her. What did yeh say ta her?”

“I accused her of lying about her identity when I first met her,” she pinched the fabric of her trousers while her Uncle snickered a bit at that. “And told her I would see her again when you come back next week.”

“So that’s the lass yeh met at the ceremony.” Bofur looked smug without even having his eyes on her. He maneuvered the cart out of the massive brick gates of Dale and onto the two sided path that lead through the valley and to the gates of Erebor. “Yer parents won’t like that.”

“I can’t stay inside the mountain forever.” Bomra toyed with the axes in her boots and looked across the lush, lively valley. Her eyes strayed on the few steams and the glistening water that flowed to and from the mountain. Would the ocean be as clear, like crystals, or would it come in thousands of shades of blue? She desperately wanted to know. “And they’re running out of reasons why I should, I have to do something Uncle or I feel as though I’ll waste away.”

He hummed a bit at that. And while she knew her Uncle would always encourage her, he had never had that desire. What more could he want? He was in the King’s honor guard when he didn’t run the cart to and from Dale; not only that he had been…involved with Prince for a few years now.

Or so she assumed.

Uncle had stopped casually courting other dwarves about three months into his watches, watches that centered around a certain dark haired, blue eyed Prince.

“Do what yeh think is right lass, the rest will right itself.” He patted her shoulder and maneuvered the cart to a slower speed.

Bomra grumbled under her breath a bit. “You do realize that’s completely unhelpful?”

“I won’t tell yeh what ta do; that’s no' my place.” Bofur went back to whistling and maneuvered the cart to a slower pace as they came close to the gates. Their pony, Shale, whinnied a bit but then fell into the lethargic stride.

Erebor’s front gates soared hundreds of feet up the side of the mountain, the black opal colored stone glowed in the sunlight. Two dwarf statues stood proud and strong on either side, battle axes at the ready. Carts and dwarves were still milling about before the gates would close for the night, some were heading east and others to the west. Traders made up most of the dwarves out at this hour, leaving for distant lands to sell their products and buy others.

But that wasn’t what caught her attention.

Bomra frowned at the sheer number of carts and heavily laden wagons that were coming from the East. “Uncle, aren’t those wagons bearing symbol of the Iron Hills?”

“By my beard, they are.” He sat forward, squinting the forty or so feet ahead where wagon after wagon was entering the mountain gate. 

A few dozen guards walked alongside the carts, their armor looked heavy and gleamed in the light. There were patches of splattered blood on the sections of metal and the oil colored substance was easily recognizable. 

Orc blood.

Bomra continued to stare. “The next envoy isn’t for months, why are they here?”

“I can’t say,” Bofur murmured. “Thorin,” he coughed and shifted a bit at his slip up; she smirked at him for it and then returned her attention to the caravan. “The Prince hasn’t said anythin' ‘bout this.”

“Is that a human with them?” her eyes flickered to him, hoping he would have an explanation for what she was seeing. Her amad had once told her the Stonefoots had traditions of wrapping their heads in cloth and the dwarrowdams covered all but their eyes, but she had only met a few Stonefoots in her lifetime and none adhered to that tradition.

And the figure clearly wasn’t a dwarf. They were taller than a human and wearing very little armor, only the thick cloth and furs covered their body. Bomra couldn’t see clearly but she knew the person was looking at her too; she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and one of her hand drifted to the axes in her boots.

Uncle must have felt the same thing, one of his hands had drifted to his mattock between the two of them. “I’m no’ sure.”

It took them a few minutes of waiting, as the Iron Hills caravan was being checked and given clearance to get into the mountain. Uncle Bofur waved at the guards on duty and they passed through the looming gates to the bustling city. The towering statues of dwarves holding the pillars were far above them and the torches that blazed during the nights were already lit. Traffic patterns of lifts and carts that ran throughout the mountain were changing to the night shifts; it ran like a well-oiled machine.

The ride up to the family quarters took less than ten minutes. Bofur would shout and wave to the miners; he didn’t ask about the caravan.

Which only meant one thing.

He was going to ask the Prince.

The cart rolled to a stop and Bomra jumped out, moving to undo the harness from Shale and haul it into the stables. She then went to the speckled pony and tugged her forward, past the stables and out into the pastures that existed especially for animals in the mountain. It was an opening, carved centuries before that towered fifty or so feet tall; the openness of it allowed grass and other plants to grow. After a hard day’s work, all the animals would be seen grazing on the side of the mountain. She patted Shale’s neck and then swatted at her when she nudged her shoulder. “Go, you earned a good night’s rest girl.”

Bomra shuffled from the pasture and let her Uncle deal with the cart. 

She had questions she needed answers.

Between Uncle being in the Prince’s royal guard, adad as head of the Royal Kitchen, and amad as lieutenant to the Captain of the Guard, they had to know something.

And Bomra wasn’t going to let this rest, not until she knew what was going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'd like to clarify that I feel like royalty is important to dwarves, especially since the royalty of Erebor is descended from Durin-which is why Bomra was so upset. And second, the pastures on the side of the mountain for animals is a head canon I've been working on. Because dwarves are so smart, they would've found a way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are Family Ur shenanigans and there is a bit of the Thorin/Bofur dynamic.

Bomra entered her family’s apartments and weaved her way through the chaos that was her family with practiced ease. She could hear the screaming of the younger children as they played, Bemra shouting orders in the kitchen where she would be helping adad, the clang of dishes as Bimra would be catching them as Bemra threw them across the space between kitchen and dining room, and Bimfur, quiet but firm Bimfur would be trying to round up the younger ones.

Their apartments weren’t the crumbling stone that she had lived in for her first fifteen years in Ered Luin, nor were they the ruins that her amad had told her about from her own childhood. No, these were completely different and far closer to luxury than her family had ever been. 

The center of the structure was open to the ceiling and lanterns dangled and the flickering light illuminated the second level where all the rooms were located. A truly impressive kitchen and dining room were located on either side of the entrance which lead into the living space and then the balcony.

She passed through the kitchen, ducking under her sister’s arms and going to the stove where her father was flipping thick strips of pork. Bomra kissed his freckled cheek. “Need help adad?”

“Your sisters are helpin’ me,” he stated softly, blue eyes soft. “You can go get the little ones.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I’m on it.”

Bomra dodged a plate that sailed across the kitchen and into the dining room; before it crashed into a wall, a hand shot out to catch it. She didn’t need to look to know both Bemra and Bimra were behind it; she signed something nasty in iglishmêk before heading toward the stairs near the balcony. She could hear her sisters laughing at her as she ascended the stairs.

Bomra wanted to bang her head against the wall at what she saw. Bimfur was chasing after some of the little ones, his dark skin shiny from sweat and that haystack of hair with few braids was sticking out in nearly every direction. “What in Mahal’s name is going on here?”

“They were playin’ Orcs an’ warriors,” Bembur said with disdain in his cerulean eyes as he watched with her. “I can help?”

Bomra shook her head, leaning down to bring her forehead against her little brother’s and she knew the little sneak was going to steal one of her axes. Cheeky thing. “No, I got this nadadith, go help Bemra and adad.”

His blinding grin was enough to make her okay with child wrangling; he descended the stairs without so much as a sound and sure enough, one of her boots was lighter.

“Amfur!” she looked in the first few rooms to find her younger sibling and sighed when she found them in the third. They were sitting on their bed, sheet music in their hands and softly singing to themselves in the chaos. Bomra sat down next to them and bumped their shoulder softly. “New music?”

“Mhmm.”

“Can I see?”

Amfur handed over the parchment; grey eyes alight with excitement and a reverent smile on their face. The notes on the page went from highest heights to the lower notes that Bomra hadn’t heard performed. She quirked a brow and turned back to her sibling, “Is this something your teacher gave you?”

They shook their head and for a moment Bomra’s eyes were tracing over the tiny, intricate braids their strawberry blonde hair was in. “I just want to get better; I want to sing this.”

“You can’t over work yourself. Especially if you aren’t at this level yet.” She clasped her younger sibling on the shoulder and shook them gently, smoothing her other hand over their unadorned beard. Amfur must have not oiled it earlier that day-their brilliant red beard had dried out and was currently a frizzy mess. “If you push yourself too fast, it’ll only hurt that beautiful voice, okay?”

Amfur leaned into her, taking back the parchment and running their hands over the notes as Bomra would look at the horizon. The impossible notes on the page were her sibling’s adventure. “I promise namad.”

“Good.” Bomra set the parchment on Amfur’s bed and stood. “Now. You go find Bimbur; I’m going to wrangle Kimra and Kimbur.”

Her younger siblings left the room and she followed dutifully, snagging a toddling, chubby dwarfling with frizzy dark hair and fuzzy cheeks. Bi-colored eyes back at her; one was the ruddy brown color of her amad’s and the other matched her own. “Hey there little jewel. What have you been-wait, why are your underwear on your feet?”

Sure enough, her youngest brother had two extra pair of underwear on his feet instead of the wooly socks he usually wore and he gave her a toothy grin in response.

“Boots! I need boots to fight Orcs namad.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and how on Arda had she not figured it out yet?

Bomra bit back a groan at the excellent logic of dwarflings. “Okay, now that you’ve slain the Orcs-”

“No, no, you have to help me! Please?” Kimbur pleaded, toying with his beard and rearranging the braids like he meant to tempt her.

“Nadadith-”

“Please, please, please, pleeeaaase! You never play with us anymore.” His tone was suddenly sad at the end and she just knew she couldn’t deny those increasingly large eyes as he pushed out his bottom lip.

Bomra sat Kimbur down and grabbed one of the wooden swords on the ground. “Let’s get ‘em azaghîth. Du Bekâr!

“Du Bekâr!” Kimbur small voice echoed and he charged forward, scooping up on of his wooden axes and rounded the corner into the last room.

She ran after him, a grin stretching across her face and she felt thirty years old again, when she used to lead Bemra and Bimra into imaginary skirmishes. 

In the room, however, Kimbur was shouting and playfully hitting his wooden axe against Kimra’s large, round stomach. The other dwarfling made hissing and growling noises from the bed where he was pretending to be an Orc. His head was shaved on either side and what hair he had left was in dreadlocks-currently they were flopping all over the place as he snarled and pretended to speak Orcish, toffee colored eyes alight with mischief. 

Amfur rolled their eyes at Bomra and tugged Bimbur from the room; her blonde hair, dark eyed brother had never been fond of playing-he would rather be alone doing his own thing-which was probably why Amfur had had such an easy time corralling the young dwarrow. Yimra walked along with the two, waving to Bomra briefly and then her honey eyes returned to the school work she must have been working on while she and Bimbur sat away from the chaos. 

Bomra tweaked her sister’s auburn beard and ruffled her raven hair before diving into the fray.

Kimra dove after her and pretended gnaw on her arm.

“Oh no, he bit me!” she cried in mock pain, holding up her hand in horror and falling her knees. “Avenge me Kimbur.” Bomra sunk to the stone floor and twitched in pain for a few moments before making a squishy sounding noise and pretending to die.

Out of the slit of her almost-closed eyes Bomra saw Kimbur strike a heroic pose on the bottom bunk bed. “You hurt my namad!”

The two scuffled for a few moments and she had to remind herself that she was playing dead. And that dead dwarves didn’t laugh at their younger siblings.

“Aurgh I’m back from the dead, rrrrrr,” Bomra clamored to her feet, taking a dwarfling under each of her arms and ignoring the protesting and kicking they were both doing. 

Kimbur gave up when she reached the stairs and began pouting. “That’s not fair.”

“Yes, well, I had to get you two rascals down to dinner didn’t I? Or do you want to explain to amad why you weren’t downstairs when she came home?” she looked down at her little brother, but received a stubby nose raised in the air instead of words.

Kimra didn’t pout; he simply tried wriggling free. “But I’m an Orc, you can’t take me!”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure.” Bomra rolled her eyes and rounded the staircase, making her way through the living area and into the even more chaotic dining room. “I’m going to set you down and you’re going to go to your seats, okay? We’ll play later.”

“Fiiiine.”

“Ugh. Okay, the Orc is hungry.”

That time she did snort at Kimra. Her little brothers scrambled up to the table and sat in their chairs, both of them instantly getting into a poking war that showed no signs of stopping. Adad and Bemra were in the kitchen, bustling about and handing things back and forth without having to even glance in each other’s direction. Bimra was going around the table getting all of the dwarflings set in their seats and straightening the plates and silverware.

Bomra snagged her sister by the forearm before she could continue on her tirade of tidying everything. “How was mining?” Her sister had bags under her eyes and her dark, wiry hair was strewn about the place. Smudges of dirt and grime covered her clothing and it was clear she had been mining and honing her stone sense.

“Good-I made a few mistakes and one of the other shifts left the corridor a mess but I was accurate on all of my time estimates,” Bimra’s smile was a flash of white against her dark skin, her hard, stone-like features were so much like amad’s when she smiled like that.

She nodded. “Good job namad. Have you been watching them all since your shift?”

“Yes.”

Bomra moved a few steps towards the stairs with her sister. “Go and get cleaned up before you’re more bothered by the mess. I can manage the heathens.” The look on her sister’s dark face was enough to make her heart swell and she pressed their foreheads together before they went opposite ways. 

After making sure Kimra and Kimbur hadn’t knocked over their plates with their fighting-and forcing the dweebs to sit still and plan out their next imaginary fight, Bomra sat between Lira and Mira.

“How did school go?” she asked Lira, watching hir reaction closely.

Ze smiled brightly and let go of hir hair that was in one large braid composed of many, many smaller ones. “I want to be a healer now.”

“Oh?”

Ze nodded. “I wanna help people like Mister Oin and learn from all over.”

“Have you told amad and adad yet?” Bomra asked. She didn’t want to shoot down her sibling’s dream, but she knew her parents weren’t going to like the idea of two of their children out there in the world.

Ze shook hir head, smile falling a bit. “Not yet, but I hope they like it.

“They’ll always be proud of you; you know that. What else did you do today?” she smoothed her sibling’s fiery-orange hair.

Hir grin came right back. “I dared Mira to eat a bug and she did it!”

“You said you’d give me a coin for that.” Mira grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you never did.”

Bomra raised a brow and fixed the pigtails that her sister was wearing, finding it fascinating that her sister had the same dark, chocolate colored hair as Uncle Bofur. Not to mention eyes nearly the same shade as well. “What kind of bug?”

“It was huge beetle and she just gobbled it up.” Lira giggled, holding hir stomach and wiggling hir feet under the table. 

“Well-”

Bemra’s voice broke through the chatter of the other kids. “I need your help Bomra.”

“Don’t eat any bugs while I’m gone,” she winked at Mira and laughed when her younger sister stuck her tongue out at her in retaliation. Bomra walked swiftly to the kitchen and surveyed all of the dishes, “What do you want me to do namadith?”

“Grow me another pair of arms?”

She chuckled and bumped forehead with Bemra briefly. “I can’t do that, unfortunately. What do you want me to carry?”

“All of those please.” Her sister stated, running a hand over her impressive moustache and goatee, a habit born out of worry and nervousness. 

Bomra hefted up the plates, each with something different. One had freshly baked spiced bread that was still steaming, another with wild boar that must have come from the Iron Hills caravan, and the last had baked potatoes that were spiced with vegetables hidden in them. One of the plates was balanced on her shoulder, held only by her chin and sheer force of will, while the other two were placed on her palms. “Outta my way you rascals.” She set them down on the table that had Broadbeam crests carved into it and wagged her finger at her younger siblings. “No, not until amad is here or no desserts.”

There was a chorus of complaints, which she raised both her brows at.

“Namad?” Bimfur’s low voice broke through the noise.

Bomra bent down and looked up at him. “Yes?”

“Do you think it’s right for Dain to have a human in his Guard?” he ran a hand through his ratted, unadorned hair and looked disgruntled, as if his eyebrows would never rise again.

She shrugged. “I think it’s odd. But if Lord Dain thinks it’s best, why wouldn’t it be? I’ve never seen a human in any dwarven guard…but, the human must have done something to earn his trust, right?” 

Her brother gnawed at his lip for a few moments. Bimfur didn’t do well with in between. He saw things as right or wrong, nothing else, and when he ran into things like this he would brood for days on end. That was, until he decided what he thought of it.

“I guess so.” He muttered, crossing his arms.

Bomra kissed the top of his head. “Nothing is going to happen to the Lord while he’s here, little guard.”

That earned her a smack on the arm.

A potato sailed through the air, intent on hitting Yimra, who was still scribbling away at her math homework. Bomra snagged it from the air before it could hit her, “Just for that, you’re on dish duty Lira.”

“But namad-!”

She leveled a glare at hir, watching her sibling sink down in hir seat and grumble about the world being unfair. Rounding the table, she took the seat near Yimra and looked at the parchment she continued to write on. “Still working on homework?”

“Nope.” Her sister stated flatly, shaking her head and her auburn beard in little twisting braids caught the light just right.

“If it’s not homework then what?”

Yimra shrugged, her freckled covered face scrunching up in irritation. “I’m practicin’, I gotta concentrate.”

“Okay, okay, I got the message.” Bomra ruffled her hair as she stood, and quickly reached one of the book shelves that sat behind the dining room table to grab a gift she had been saving.

Bimbur and Amfur were talking quietly, both of them looking over the music that Amfur had brought home from their lessons. Or copied without permission, she couldn’t be sure. “You’ll need this nadadith.” She dropped the brand new flute in her brother’s lap and grinned when his face lit up the sun breaking through the clouds on a rainy day.

“Bomra, you didn’t have to-”

Before she could say anything her mother walked through the door, her armor partially covered in gore and black blood. Bomra bolted from her seat and positioned herself in front of her mother before any of her younger siblings could mob her. “Stop!” she bellowed.

They all froze.

“Amad is going to take off her armor, then you can hug her. Unless you want Orc blood all over your clothes?” She asked the hoard of dwarflings.

Amira laughed boisterously at her children as she removed her armor piece by piece, the large slabs of metal clanged to the floor. Adad rushed over before her siblings could, wiping the blood from her cheeks and planting a soft kiss there. They traded a few soft words and Bomra wrinkled her nose up and turned her head away, making a face at the hoard of dwarflings.

There were a few giggles at that.

“Now where are all my little ones?” Amad’s gruff voice rang out and then there was a rush as all the children piled around their mother. Bomra stood back and chuckled as she watched as Kimra tried climbing over Kimbur’s shoulders, which nearly had him smacking his head against Amfur’s. 

Not many dwarves would consider this normal, but Mahal, it was good to see her family scrambling around one another. 

Bimra nudged her in the shoulder, her dark face free of grime. “Two rubies says Bembur gets his shoulder hit.”

“Your face looks better.” That earned her an elbow in the ribs. She rolled her blue eyes at the assumption; leave it to her sister to have such little faith. “They’re rowdy not-”

“Ow! Lira cut it out!” Bembur, predictably, had somehow ended up on the bottom of the dwarf pile, clutching at his right shoulder and his voice shook with pain.

Bomra growled under her breath. “Fine, you’ll have two rubies by the end of the week.” 

“You should have known better than to even let her finish that sentence.” Bemra moved to take her place on Bomra’s other side, her moustache finally oiled and back in place, though, she was currently using a freckled hand to twist the ends of it.

She eyed her sisters. “You think I don’t know that? I thought maybe they’d behave for once.”

Both sets of eyes, Bemra’s cerulean and Bimra’s coal ones were on her. And they both had the same disbelieving expressions on their mugs.

It was going to be a long night.

-

It took them nearly two hours to clean the kitchen and have all the dwarflings washed up from the crazy messy affair, and have them into bed at a decent hour. In the end, after everything was sorted and all the young ones were in bed, Bomra sat with two of her younger siblings and both of her parents. 

All five of them had their feet up on the wooden table. It had been carved by both of her Uncles and had tales of famous dwarrows of the past carved into it.

Boots weren’t allowed on it, but sore feet with socks? Those were completely acceptable.

Bomra wiggled her toes. “So how did we get that many potatoes? The last caravan from the Iron Hills was five months ago and the next one isn’t for a good while.” Her eyes moved to her parents and a part of her wanted to stop badgering them; they were simply happy to be snuggled up to each other. 

Amira was currently letting Bombur lean into her side with a well-muscled arm around her rotund husband.

Adad raised a furry brow. “Bomra what’re you tryin’ to pry out o’ your amad?”

“Daughter of mine, you’ve never been good at needling. What do you want to know?” Amira’s dark, impassive face turned to her. Amad’s hair was in thick, heavy looking braids that fell to her waist. She had always kept her short, curly beard well-oiled and Bomra knew the comforting smell of peppermint would still be around her, even after her day as a guard.

She shifted, sparing a glance toward Bemra and Bimra who were also giving her identical looks of confusion. “I want to know why Lord Dain is here.”

“He’s not technically Lord yet, since Lord Nain is still goin’ strong,” Bemra corrected and oh how she loved to do that. Ever since she had learned to speak, her younger sister had loved to annoy her and correct her in the tiniest ways. At one time, it bothered her, but when she had learned Bemra only did it because she wanted to feel as ‘smart’ as Bomra was? She couldn’t be annoyed at her sister any longer.

Bomra rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. “Either way, the next caravan shouldn’t be for months and it definitely shouldn’t include the son of a Lord.”

“I’m not going to lie to you, since I know you’ll only send Bembur to collect any information he can find,” her mother sighed and sat up to lean her thick forearms on her thighs. “And Mahal knows I don’t need to find Dwalin scolding my own son again.”

Adad nodded solemnly. “There’ve been rumors in th’ kitchen ‘bout a meetin’ between some leaders, real hush hush.”

“And I can tell you that there will be a meeting in four days, the announcement is tomorrow and I will be working the guard detail for that.” Amira went silent at that and picked up the ale she had set on the table a few minutes before. “If you want more information, it’s your Uncle you’ll need to speak to.”

Bomra glanced at her sister’s and shared a look with Bimra, who quirked a brow and the corner of her mouth turned upward. Bemra rolled her lips inward, as if she were trying not to burst into giggles. “You’re telling me he would know.”

“Yes.” Amad’s answering grin was completely unapologetic.

Bemra twisted her moustache again. “And he would know because he’s-”

“-courting the Prince,” she finished for her sister.

Their father nodded. “So you know.”

“I wasn’t entirely sure, but when he stopped courting others or having casual relationships, I knew something was different.” Bomra motioned for Bemra to sit in front of her, which she did without complaint. She ran her fingers through her sister’s auburn locks, unbraiding the dozens of loops that went around her head and neck. It was comforting and so familiar, taking her back to memories when she would spend hours upon hours braiding and unbraiding her sister’s hair.

Bomra didn’t even know who handed her the comb. “Are you sure Uncle Bofur’s courting the Prince?”

“Go see for yourself.”

-

“Yeh gotta admit, his hair looks like a beehive,” Bofur dead panned as he breathed out a cloud of smoke and bumped shoulders with the Prince sitting on his balcony. 

Thorin smirked in response. He had been grumbling about meeting Dain and the other Council members that were being particularly difficult that day. The Prince puffed a bit from his pipe and then turned to Bofur; his blue eyes all but glowed in the light of the stars. “Perhaps you’re right; it would explain his attitude. Did your trip to Dale go well?”

“Now, none of that tone yeh grump. Despite yeh no' likin’ the King, Dale is important to yer kingdom.”

He grunted. “I don’t need a lecture on my own Kingdom.”

“Right, o’ course. Yer always right, yer Highness,” Bofur was sitting but managed to bend at the waist and grinned at the other dwarf. He didn’t respond to the glare that was leveled in his direction and merely chose to answer the question with a dimpled grin. “My niece went with me to Dale, an’ I finally got to meet the woman she was goin’ on ‘bout after the celebration.”

Thorin raised a brow. “A human woman?”

“Aye. My niece has always favored dwarrowdams, but I did no’ know that extended ta humans.” He scratched under his hat, adjusting the ponytails in his hair.

“Does that bother you?” 

“Nah. I’ve never seen her like this around a dwarrowdam,” Bofur chuckled and grinned at Thorin like the menace he was. “Like you, when I met yeh in that tavern. All bumblin’ an' blushin’ like yeh had never talked to another dwarrow before.”

Thorin nearly growled, looking very much like a disgruntled bear at that moment. “I told you I had never been outside the palace without guards or been to a place I wasn’t recognized by-”

“Yeah, I know that. But the comparison still stands.” Bofur blew smoke in his face with a wink and watch the Prince sputter and cough at the sudden intrusion. “She is confident an’ an amazin' dwarrowdam, but all o’ that didn’ matter around that human.”

The Prince grumbled something intelligible. “I was not a bumbling-”

The door to the apartments was flung open before Thorin could finish, crashing against the wall and an angry voice shouted into the darkness.

“UNCLE.”

Both dwarves pulled their legs over the edge of the balcony and turned around. Bomra was walking towards them, her braids rather messy and it was clear there had been a food fight at dinner due to the mashed potatoes smeared on her tunic.

Bofur shared a look with Thorin before turning back to his niece. “Yeah?”

“You’re going to tell me-oh, shit,” the dwarrowdam stopped short and gave a deep bow. “I didn’t realize you had Company, your Majesty.”

Thorin waved a hand and shook his head. “Please, while I’m here you may call me Thorin.”

“If you wish.” Bomra toyed with her beard and turned to Bofur with an irritated look on her face, blue eyes narrowed accusingly. “So this is why you have information-tell me, what’s happening with the caravan from the Iron Hills? Why is there a human with them? Why are they here so early?”

Bofur shared a look with his…well, he truly didn’t know what to call Thorin. They weren’t technically courting because it wasn’t public. He took his hat off and set it on the railing while both dwarves looked at him expectantly. “Yer expectin’ me ta explain this t’her while yeh sit there all smug an’ what not?”

“She didn’t ask me.”

Bomra raised both of her thick brows and had an expectant look on her face. “Your lover has a point; I did ask you.”

“I didn’ know what I could tell yeh, alright? An’ I didn’ think yeh would find out about th’ caravan until later,” he rubbed the back of his neck and then hit Thorin on the side of the head with his hat and turned back to his niece. “They’re here because th’ King is sick an’ in three days there will be a council meetin’…the announcement is this mornin’. As for th' human, that's not somethin' either of us know.”

The young dwarrowdam frowned, her face creased with worry and she looked to the Prince with hesitation. “Is…will King Thrain be alright?”

Thorin was silent for a moment, his face as expressionless as the stone he leaned on.

“The healers are not sure at the moment, but that’s only the first problem.” The disgruntled dwarrow rubbed his hands up and down over his face; Bofur rubbed his hand up and down Thorin’s back, smiling when the muscles in his shoulders relaxed. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

Bomra rolled her bright blue eyes and raised a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Then you shouldn’t have told my Uncle, who has a really big mouth, by the way.”

Bofur snickered into his free hand.

“As I was saying, my father isn’t the only problem. There have been letters from nearly every kingdom in Middle Earth; all of their rulers have come down with an illness that appears to have the same symptoms. Every symptom, down to the number of times they’ve vomited,” the change in demeanor was obvious, the Prince was speaking to them, Thorin had all but disappeared before their eyes.

To the credit of his niece, she didn’t back down from the intense stare and she didn’t even blink at the intensity that Thorin brought. “That…is odd. Do you have any idea what caused it?”

“No, I do not. But I believe my father may.”

“And he hasn’t told you?”

Thorin shook his head. “I have tried speaking to him, as have my siblings, yet nothing we say can loosen his tongue on the matter.” 

“I know that King Thrain has been unwell and he has always handled his condition very well,” it was very clear Bomra had done her research and made sure she knew the goings on with the Royal family. 

Thrain’s illness had changed much in the Kingdom.

The stigma against illnesses of the mind was nearly gone and with the help of Thorin and Frerin, help was available to all in Erebor. But the rumors of the King’s bad days were not pleasant and the many times Thorin had come to Bofur’s apartments and simply broke down from the stress and pressure that had been placed on him. The thought had Bofur shaking his head and worry twisted in his gut.

His niece had paused for a moment, but continued when she noticed Thorin looked pensive. “But maybe there is another reason he hasn’t told you.”

“And what do you suppose that would be?” Thorin’s tone was glacial.

Bofur spoke up, “Oi, watch yer tone when yeh talk to my niece.”

There was a moment when Bomra waited for the Prince to speak.

“I am sorry, please, continue.” 

His niece nodded her head in acknowledgement and made a few motions with her hands as she spoke. “I can’t tell you when all of this started, but I know there have been rumors. The crops on the upper levels are dying, some of the animals are growing sick, and there are a lot more dwarrows sick than usual…” Bomra toyed with her beard for a moment as she thought on it, “And Dale has had rumors as well, while Uncle was gathering supplies I overheard some of the humans discussing an Elk being in Dale.”

“An Elk, do yeh mean…?” Bofur’s eyes widened.

She nodded. “I think the King of ‘Mirkwood’ paid a visit to Dale, or rather he is currently staying there.”

“That could simply be a coincidence,” Thorin mused, leaning into Bofur’s side.

“I don’t think it is. My opinion may not be much in the long run but Dale’s crops were low, their stores were almost drained and the herds they owned were significantly smaller.” Bomra took a few pacing steps, her eyes flitting over the landscape and the glow of Dale, then to the stars for a few moments before turning back to them. “If these events were weeks, even months apart I would say they aren’t cause for worry. But all at once? Something is wrong, very wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here are the khuzdul translations, if they're inaccurate simply tell me and I'll fix it!
> 
> adad - father  
> amad - mother  
> namad - sister  
> nadad- brother  
> namadith - little sister  
> nadadith - little brother  
> azaghîth - little warrior  
> Du Bekâr - to arms
> 
> So I tried to cut down on the confusion and be concise with Bomra's siblings, but there are so damn many of them I'm sure it's still confusing. So here's a list of their ages, gender, and appearances!
> 
> -Bemra: 98, female, she has a lighter skin tone than her Blacklock mother and takes more after Bombur in that department and also has his blue eyes. Her hair is a rich auburn and held in thick braids that loop around her head and neck several times; she also has a great, fluffy mustache and impressive goatee.  
> -Bimra: 69, genderfluid-prefers she/her pronouns, though there are times she uses they/their/them and as Blacklocks have done for centuries, purple thread will be braided into the rope-like braids. She's been accused of being her mother's twin, with her dark eyes and skin, not to mention they both wear their hair in the same style-braids unpinned and falling to their waists.  
> -Bimfur: 64, male, looks a lot like his Uncle Bifur with his mother's dark skin and keeps his hair ratted with no adornment whatsoever while his beard is intricately done. Some of his hair has gone silver early, which draws a contrast from his otherwise black hair and blue eyes.  
> -Amfur: 64, nonbinary dwarf who prefers they/them/their pronouns, Bimfur's twin and the two are nearly identical, save for the fact that Amfur's hair is in tiny, elaborate braids that take an hour to finish each day-that and their eyes are dark as can be. Their beard is a deep, rich red and is a curly, puffy unadorned mass.  
> -Bembur: 56, male, he has his mother's dark skin and father's blue eyes, while his hair is in dreadlocks that he pins up in various ways, depending on the day.  
> -Lira: 50, a genderqueer dwarf who uses ze/hir pronouns, ze is a rather light skinned dwarf who has bright orange hair and hir mother's ruddy brown eyes. Ze keeps hir hair in tiny braids that are braided together until hir hair is in one massive, complicated braid.  
> -Mira: 50, a dwarf who went by he/him pronouns until she turned 45 and informed her parents that she was a woman. She has dark hair that is the same shade as melted chocolate, nearly black eyes, and skin that is smack between Bombur's pale and Amira's dark.  
> -Bimbur: 46, male, his pale blonde hair is a stark contrast to his dark hair and skin, which he keeps in braids that have several beads and metals that he has collected.  
> -Yimra: 42, a nonbinary dwarf who prefers she/her pronouns, but has been known to braid the fabric into her beard on some occasions and go by they/them/their. Their skin is light, and they have an enormous amount of freckles like their father. Their eyes, supposedly look like Bombur’s mothers, the color of honey, their black hair is kept up, in a bun, and their auburn beard is kept in a forked style with many braids (comparable to Nori’s three parted beard).  
> -Kimra: 34, male, the sides of his head have been shaved of the dark red hair (so dark it looks black), while the center is dreadlocks which he often ties back to get out of his way. His eyes are a light brown that sometimes appear orange.  
> -Kimbur: 22, male, his hair and beard are dark, while one of his eyes is red/brown like his mother and the other is blue like his father.


End file.
